2
Appearances
“Over my shoulder you can see the stricken tanker. The Torino Valley was carrying over five hundred thousand barrels of crude oil when she lost power in this gale and ran aground here, at Willis Point on the Cornish coastline. The weather is hampering attempts by the navy to rescue the crew, and they say it will be impossible to lay a boom to contain the oil until the gale has blown itself out, or passed over. So the oil is just free to run out of the enormous gash in the tankers side. Environmental groups are saying that this spill could devastate local wildlife for decades. It’s the worst oil spill in British history, and right now there’s nothing the authorities can do about it.”
At just this moment Wills’ attention was broken by his Father calling to him.
“Will. Will, what are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Well you should be it’s a beautiful spring day. You should be out riding your bike, or playing football or something. When I was your age I didn’t sit around doing nothing. I made my own bikes you know. From bits I got from scrap yards because my parents were too poor to buy me…”
“Look Dad it’s ok, I’m going out now anyway. I’m going to meet Zoë.”
“Oh yes, Zoë is it, ooooh.”
“Shut up Dad.”
With that Will ran up the stairs to his room. He shook the mouse on his desk, bringing the PC to life. He Pulled up the map of
“I’m going, bye.”
Rushing down the street he tried to think of where he could get privacy, and headed for the woods behind the Mencap home round the corner. Stretching out the pages and figuring out the right direction on the compass, he set his sight and reached out. As he stuffed the pages into his pocket he began to feel himself existing. He could feel the cells, the molecules, the atoms, the particles, the ripples. He pushed the feeling forward, thinking of the spot about a mile away and a thousand feet up, clutching desperately onto the compass. He could feel the ripples forming in the air, just where he was looking. He started to become aware of a cold wind around him that hadn’t been there a second before, and then he was in both places at once. A thousand feet up, falling, and crouched in the woods hidden from prying eyes. Then after a tiny sliver of a moment he was all there, falling fast, too fast.
He looked ahead again and further up into the sky, looked briefly at the compass, and as he noticed a motorway rushing towards him he was gone again. Flashing from place to place, sometimes ten or fifteen miles in a single pulse, thousands of feet above the ground. Always in the same direction, looking out for the towns that should pass beneath him, always falling faster and faster. He hadn’t realised that he would keep falling. Each pulse didn’t allow him to start again. He was always falling. Hadn’t Mr Fulford the physics teacher said something about this? Didn’t an object keep accelerating as it fell? How fast was it? He couldn’t remember. For the first time ever he wished he paid more attention at school.
Then there it was, he could see the television van with the reporter and cameraman. Out over the edge of the cliff was the raging grey and green sea, and the bleeding bulk of the oil tanker. A final short pulse and he was above it. As he fell he reached out with his hands for the tingling bubble rap feel of the ripples in reality. With enormous relief he began to slow. As he descended towards the ship he realised, however, that he had misjudged his speed. He stopped a little over twenty feet above the ship, floating in the air. He nodded to himself.
"Levitation... cool."
* * *
“Get the camera, get the camera. Don’t just stand there. Are you mental? We’ve got to get this. Go live. Go live. What is going on here?
Is that the studio? Is that the studio? This is Barrett Pips live from Willis point and your not going to believe this.”
* * *
“I have no idea what he’s doing Jerry, he’s just floating there. This is incredible. I don’t know if he’s trying to help, or what his intentions are. He appears to be a teenage boy. He’s wearing a hooded top with some kind of logo on it... and cargo pants I think. We can’t see his face he has his back to us. With any luck there might be a camera on one of the helicopters operating here who can get some pictures. Wait. Look…the oil.”
Back in the studio work had come to a stop as the newsroom crowded round the monitors. The cameraman, who had to keep the shot on Jerry behind the desk, was heard to swear live on air. Nobody bothered to phone in and complain.
“Barrett…Barrett…what’s going on? Hello…Barrett?”
“Jerry…Jerry the oil. The oil is flowing back into the tanker. I can see globs of it being sucked off rocks and flying back towards the gash in the tankers side.”
“It’s not repairing itself Jerry. It’s the boy. It’s the boy.”
Just one task left now. Will felt the entire ship. The vast steel body of the stricken beast. No, that was not the way. Steel can’t float. How do things fly? They have thrust, right. Something pushes them. He reached around the ship.
“Yes Barrett, yes. I see it.”
“The Torino Valley, an oil tanker that ways over a quarter of a million tons when loaded is now hovering about fifteen or twenty feet above the wave tops, and is moving slowly out to sea, away from the rocks.”
“A what?”
“Jerry. I think that maybe there is a superhero in the world... and I think he’s a Geordie.”
* * *
“Harper, come up here please and bring Mr. Whittle with you. I think we may have a complication.”
“Will is that you?”
“Yes Dad.”
“Have you seen the news? Me and your Mam have just seen the most incredible thing.” From his voice it didn’t sound incredible. It sounded expected. It sounded like something exasperating that you were very fond of despite the hassle, like Christmas.
Michael Bishop stepped into the doorway and leaned up against the frame.
“What was it?” said Will. They’d seen him on television. Everyone would have. What would he do now? Why had he gone? Why hadn’t just stayed at home? Why did he have to try and be clever? What was going to happen to him now?
“A young lad cleaned up an oil spill and levitated a quarter of a million ton oil tanker out to sea.”
“You’re joking.” Will tried to sound amazed but his heart just wasn’t in it.
“No I’m not joking. Am I Marie?”
“No your not.” Came Marie Bishops’ voice from the living room, equally accepting and resigned.
“Couldn’t make out his face. It was raining and he had his back to the camera. I’ll tell you what, though. That young fella’ is going to have his backside on the front page of every newspaper in the world.”
“And every news programme.” Wills’ mother called.
“I’ll go and put News 24 on in my bedroom.” Will tried to dash up the stairs.
“Son.”
“Yes Dad.”
“For heavens sake cover your face next time, eh. Wear a mask or something.”
“Er…alright…Dad.”
As Wills’ Dad turned to go back into the living room, he glanced over his shoulder.
“Good job that, son.”
‘DISASTER AVERTED BY SUPER POWERED BOY’
‘MORE POWERFUL THAN A LOCOMOTIVE!’
‘SUPERGEORDIE?’
From the newspaper headlines over the last few days you maybe forgiven for thinking the world had stopped spinning. But it hasn’t, and the miraculous appearance of the boy who saved the ‘
Let’s look at what we know. Well he’s obviously hugely powerful. Don’t forget that was a quarter of a million tons that he simply lifted and pushed three miles out to sea. He can fly, and many eyewitnesses claim that he just popped into existence above the tanker. So he may have the ability to teleport. On top of that he was able to repair the damage to the ships hull so thoroughly that experts who examined it afterwards couldn’t identify the area that had been damaged. And finally he was able to summon all of the crude oil spilled back to the ship, whilst separating it from any material with which it had come into contact.
Professor Nathan Burke of
His face began to tingle as he allowed the awareness of the molecules in his skin to wash over him. Then he took it deeper feeling his own flesh and bone. Then slowly, he began to move. Very carefully at first, unsure of what he could do without hurting himself, he added muscle mass and extended bone. He stretched and pulled and reduced, all with a steady, nervous, tenderness. When he was done he resembled the composite man in the photo in the way that a child can resemble a parent. But he thought he looked okay, and certainly nothing like his normal self.
He laid his favourite t-shirt on the bed next to a carrier bag full of soil he had taken from the back garden, and sat down to concentrate. A few minutes later Marie Bishop opened the door to tell him when dinner would be ready. She saw a fountain of soil, leaping from the bag and forming a t-shirt shaped mass on the bed. After getting over the shock of what she was watching, she realised that at some point she would have to wash the duvet cover currently covered in dirt. She was about to shout at Will when the soil turned into a copy of the black t-shirt also lying on the bed, even down to the faded colour around the shoulders. ‘Just like the coins’ she thought.
When he opened his eyes he found his mother standing at the door staring at the bed pulling faces. Either she was trying to puzzle out what she had seen or she was having a nervous breakdown.
“Mam?”
Slowly she wrenched her gaze away from the bed and stared at him.
“Mam… are you alright?”
Her gaze fell to the floor, and still she stood there silently. Then her eyes swivelled to the ceiling as an idea occurred to her.
“If I show you a picture and give you a sample of material, could you make me a dress?”
Will quickly shut the outsize book he had been looking at.
“Nothing.”
“What book are you reading?”
“I’m not reading a book.”
“What book were you reading?”
Will looked ashamed, and held up a large hard backed book.
“It’s about symbols used in coats of arms.”
“You geek.”
“Well that makes two of us then.”
“What are you reading that for anyway?”
“Nothing, I just am. Anyway let’s go out, there’s only ten minutes before the end of lunch.”
“My fellow Americans. My friends, it fills my heart with joy to see you all here. We’ve all come along way, haven’t we? When I started I was a young boy working on my family’s farm in
The crowd murmured their consent. One or two people called out, “Amen”. The old man cleared his throat and let the cadences of his deep southern voice rise.
“I remember it as if it was yesterday, and I will remember it all the days of my life. I was sitting on that old Ford tractor. Ploughing one of my Daddy’s good bottom fields. It was a fine cold spring day, just like today. You know the clear, frosty kind that makes you feel glad to be alive. That makes you feel hungry in your soul. And he came to me. Like an updraft of life itself, like a gathering storm of promise that was about burst upon me, the Lord came to me. He showed me a vision of what my life could be. A vision of service, and dedication. A vision of joy unbound. And I knew then that that simple life I longed to lead would be a waste. It would be a sin. I knew then that I had to follow wherever he would lead, no matter where. And boy, did he lead me. Yes sir, he has given me a rich, full life. He has given me happiness, unending torrents of joy. And now, as I approach my end, he has brought me hear…to be with you my dear friends. Oh Lord I cannot thank you enough. You gave your only son for my sins. You give me your love everlasting. You have given me a life of joy… and all you have ever asked of me is that I love you with all my heart. Grace like a boundless ocean is the love of God almighty. And now we are here, and ready to do your bidding.
My friends, our forefathers came to this land to build a life where they were free to worship God, in the way they wanted to. Free from persecution, and outside influence. And I say it time we took back that birthright. We have come here, to the seat of government, to show the men and women who run our great nation exactly how they have wandered away from the path of God, and exactly how they can return to it. They have only to listen for his voice and obey it. They have only to follow his great will and our nation will be a temple unto him. A shining beacon to the whole world of how a nation should be. Of how people should live, how they should comport themselves.”
“…this country is riddled with sin. We must cast it out. We must find it, and isolate it, and cut it like a cancer. But listen to the politicians and they will tell you that we must be reasonable. The Bible doesn’t talk of reason. The Bible talks of faith. But that is a foreign concept to them. That is because most of them are sinners themselves. They consort with atheists, and intellectuals, and Jews, and Muslims, and abortionists and homosexuals. They are mired in sin and that is why they cannot see it.”
Spittle flew from his lips as he shouted, and raged.
“Now Samael. Show them the truth of my word.”
The old man stopped dead, gazing into the sky. The crowd began to glance around, and gasps flew up as first one person saw what the preacher had seen, and then another. A young man, with translucent skin and great dazzling white wings drifted above the crowd, heading for the stage.
Clothed in a white tunic and sandals he carried a great crystal sword in his right hand. It bled orange flame along the blade. When he spoke it sounded like thunder singing opera.
“Josiah Richards, you have preached a doctrine of fear and hatred and you have done this in Gods’ name. You have twisted his words and his intent to further your own evil prejudice. I am Samael, angel of the Lord your God, and I am here to deliver his judgement, swift and certain.”
* * *
Abraham Milton watched on the screen. He saw what Samael saw, looked through his eyes. He spoke quietly into the mic.
"This man is a sinner who has defiled my name Samael. Kill him. Send him into my presence."
* * *
The angel landed on the stage near the old man.
"I hear the voice of God. His judgement has been given to me." he cried.
With a stroke of his sword the old man fell dead. There was terrified silence as the white haired head bobbled across the stage and balanced momentarily on the edge. It rested there for a moment as the crowd froze, watching with wide eyes. Then, it tipped forward and fell to the ground. The crowd, as one, turned and fled screaming.
‘THE END OF THE WORLD?’ Said one.
‘THE SECOND COMING?’ Another.
‘WHAT HAPPENS NOW?’ Yet another.
‘WHO’S NEXT FOR THE CHOP?’ Another still.
The day had dawned with nobody certain of anything, and like the rest of the world, the newspapers had nothing to offer but questions. She bought a chocolate bar, not a newspaper, and left.
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